


don't you (forget about me)

by Capbuckyang



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2018 Stanley Cup Playoffs, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-27 01:09:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14414391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capbuckyang/pseuds/Capbuckyang
Summary: They’ve fought before of course, it would be impossible not to, but there’s too many unspoken words this time and the gap between them on the bed makes Sid feels like he’s drowning.





	don't you (forget about me)

 

* * *

 

 

Sid takes a deep breath before pushing open the door handle. It gives in easily. He doesn’t know why it shocks him, it’s not like Claude would lock him out and make him sit in the cold at the front door; he could be petty, but not that petty. He’s shocked anyway.

It warm inside and smells inviting, like it always does when Claude gets home before him. Sid takes off his coat and notices that the entire house is dark, except for a single light in the kitchen. Claude’s standing in front of the stove top, and there’s cheese and bread on the counter next to him.

Sid was pretty loud getting in, but he stands quietly against the doorway now, the sound of sizzling grilled cheese the only noise in the background. It's a little jarring after coming off the ice, media scrum, and locker room noise. Sid is still buzzing from it, a mix of happiness and regret swirling in his stomach, making him queasy on top of feeling exhausted to the bone.

He wants to step closer, wrap his arms around Claude, press his face against the crook of his neck and feel the warmth of his bare back against his chest. He chooses to watch instead, taking in the tension in Claude’s shoulders, the comforting motions of him cooking in their kitchen.

The only thing that felt out of the norm is Claude not turning around as soon as he heard Sid come in and make a teasing remark before drawing him in for a kiss.

This loss stung harder than the rest, Sid knows that, he understands personal boundaries, knows the rush and anger and confusion the playoffs bring.

There was a bruise on Claude's left shoulder fading slowly. His sweats hung low around his hips and the dip in his back looked more enticing then usual in the muted lighting. Sid doesn't want to push, knows Claude can get prickly over losses, it's not like Sid would be any different, especially during the playoffs. He keeps his distance, waiting for Claude to acknowledge his presence when he wanted to, but maybe that wasn't the best of plans.

Claude leaves the kitchen without turning around even once. He leaves Sid alone in the kitchen with the single light illuminating half a grilled cheese sandwich waiting for him. So he was mad, but not mad at Sid. Mad at the situation maybe. Mad at himself.

This was the hardest part, learning how to navigate a relationship between two very competitive Captains of very remarkable teams all aiming for the same thing.

It was all trial and error, so Sid decides he doesn’t want to eat alone and trails after Claude into their bedroom with his plate in hand. Claude is on the phone, still won’t look at him, and he’d finished eating already.

Sid pokes at his sandwich, Claude’s comfort food.

Sid always makes him a grilled cheese after a particularly harsh game or when he’s feeling homesick for his parents and dogs. It’s a little odd that Claude made it for him this time, and Sid fights against the sinking feeling in his stomach.

Claude isn’t obligated to be happy for him, Sid doesn’t even particularly want _that_ , he just doesn't know what to do with this silence.

He doesn’t know how to comfort Claude or how to address the fact that he's happy and proud of his team for making it past round 1 and aching and full of anger in Claude’s behalf for his team losing.

It stays like that for the rest of the night and Sid doesn’t break the silence.

He doesn’t say anything when Claude silently brushes his teeth while Sid showers just next to him, he doesn’t say anything as Claude wraps up his still freshly healing cut that he got the other day chopping up carrots for dinner, and he says absolutely nothing when Claude slips in quietly next to him in bed to sleep.

It’s stifling.

They’re never this quiet. They’ve fought before of course, it would be impossible not to, but there’s too many unspoken words this time and the gap between them on the bed makes Sid feels like he’s drowning.

“I’m sorry,” Sid says, staring up at the ceiling, finally feeling like he’ll burst open if he doesn’t say anything at all.

He hears Claude shuffle around and Sid’s foot glides over his ankle. It’s the first actual form of contact they’ve had since they went to bed yesterday night, hearts heavy, adrenaline, superstitions, and tactics running through their minds.

“What the fuck are you sorry for?” Claude asks and even though his voice is all grumbly and a little pissed off, Sid feels like it comforts a deep ache inside his chest.

Sid turns to look at him and finds Claude staring up at the ceiling too.

“I don’t want you to be sorry,” Claude says when Sid just stares at him, taking in his perfectly groomed beard, dark circles under his eyes, tension in every line of his body.

“Claude,” Sid starts but Claude sits up suddenly, frustrated and curls in on himself like a wild thing when Sid tries to move closer.

Sid has no idea what to do with this.

“Don’t,” Claude says, tucking his head between his knees and Sid tries so hard to give him space, tries so _hard_  not to reach out and pull Claude into his arms and kiss away whatever’s making him so miserable.

He doesn’t even try to touch him because he’s afraid he’s the very thing making Claude that _miserable_.

“This wasn’t your fault,” Sid says and Claude stiffens, his eyes feel like daggers against Sid’s skin everywhere but Sid needs Claude to know this.

“How about we don’t do this?” Claude asks, and Sid wants to shake a him a little, wants to remind Claude that he was the one that said Sid and him should talk about their problems more so why the hell was he being so difficult about it _now_?

“You haven’t said anything at all, what am I supposed to do? Just watch you beat yourself up?”

“What do you want me to say, Sid? Congratufuckinglations, the penguins crushed the flyers once again, do you want a victory blowjob for it?” Claude spits at him.

They’re both half naked, twisted in between the sheets, anger and left over adrenaline running through their veins.

Sid doesn’t want to fight. He knows Claude’s hurting and too upset, thinks Claude might even be proud of Sid under all the resentment and anger and frustration.

“If you wanna be such a dick about it, that’s fine. But don’t do this,” Sid says reaching out for him and holds on when Claude tries to shrug out of his grip. They grapple on the bed for a few seconds, and it’s ridiculous really, they’re both aching and sore everywhere and halfheartedly wrestling over something they both can’t fix.

Sid kisses Claude first. He fights it, as expected, but Sid’s persistent, bites at Claude’s mouth and pulls him back in, leaving bruises on his hips probably. It’s worth it when Claude finally gives in and lets Sid crowd over him.

Sid keeps kissing him, alternating long, sucking kisses with short sharp ones, his teeth scraping over Claude’s lower lip. He kisses down his neck, biting at his throat when Claude drags his fingernails harshly down Sid’s back, digging into his hips. He settles in between Claude’s knees, watches Claude toss his head back, spreads his legs more, and breathes _fuck_ when Sid’s lips touch the tip of his cock.

Claude will say something stupid like, _I didn’t need a consolation prize_ , but Sid doesn’t care. He just wants to feel Claude close, find a way to make him feel good and share his own joy with him even if they can’t talk about it yet.

He doesn’t expect Claude to work through his feelings on Sid’s mouth, but maybe he should have expected it.

Sid barely gets a chance to suck him and work him up before Claude’s fingers are rough in his hair, guiding his head.

Sid doesn’t mind, doesn’t fight it. It helps that Claude’s making these hot, almost wounded noises every time Sid swallows, licks at the underside of the head of his dick, squeezes his thigh. His mouth almost feels tender as Claude fucks up, thrusts in, and pulls out.

Sid feels delirious; he’s aching and tired and Claude is intense, he takes over everything Sid is and feels and becomes the focus of his entire universe.

Claude pulls away and strokes himself once, twice, and then he’s coming on Sid’s cheeks and mouth. Sid presses his lips to the tip of Claude’s dick, sucking him one more time and Claude pushes him away. Sid can feel Claude’s come getting sticky on his face, but he licks his mouth.

Claude pulls him up and kisses him, reaches between them to curl a hand around Sid’s cock. Sid sucks at Claude’s neck and noses at the thin skin behind Claude’s ear. Claude doesn’t have to do much, just tugs Sid a few times, knows perfectly well what will make Sid fall apart in seconds. He rubs his thumb at the head where Sid’s wettest before he’s coming and making them both a mess.

Sid doesn’t remember a lot after that. His mouth feels tingly and good, and Claude’s still touching him, wipes him down with a warm, wet wash cloth and kisses him over and over.

There’s no gap between them when Claude slips into bed this time. He curls right around Sid and Sid grins, his eyes already closed. He kisses Claude’s knuckles and passes out, feeling a million times better.

 

* 

*

*

 

Everything’s aching just a little when he wakes up to the sound of his alarm.

The curtains are still drawn and Sid remembers that they have the morning off. He smiles and stretches out, reaches a hand out for Claude.

The bed is cool and empty next to him.

Sid groans as he gets up; he really needs to see his therapist at some point today, a massage would do them both good probably. He throws on a pair of sweats and heads for the kitchen to find Claude.

It’s unexpectedly cleaner than it was last night. There’s also no Claude anywhere in sight.

Sid almost goes back into the bedroom to find his phone and text Claude to find out if he went to pick up breakfast until the sticky note on the stove top catches his eye.

He curiously pads over and sees Claude's tiny scrawling hand writing sticking out in bright blue ink. 

_Hey,_

_This is probably a little shitty, but I don’t think I’d be able to do it to your face so. I think I need some space. It’s not about you, I just need some time, think things through. Wish you the best in the rest of the run, don’t hurt yourself._

_Bye, Sid._

 

The kitchen tile feels cool through his sweats.

Sid’s not sure when he made it to the floor, but he doesn’t move for a while, reads the stupid yellow note over and over again before crumbling it in his fist and taking a deep breath.

He feels like he’s been sucker punched. He looks down and sees Claude all over him, the bruises on his hips, the red lines down his shoulders. His sheets still smell like both of them and Claude’s favorite spatula is still sitting on the counter top.

His heart's beating too fast and his palms feel sweaty. The sticky note feels like it weighs a ton in his clenched fist. Sid closes his eyes and waits for the rolling in his stomach to settle down.

Claude’s an idiot and a selfish prick.

He wants to call him. He wants to run after him to the airport and knock him down and kiss him until he realizes he can’t just _leave_ , especially not with a shitty goodbye on a sticky note. He wants to yell at him and punch him and bite his shoulder, or neck, leave a bruising mark that makes him remember that he's _Sid's._ He wants to ask him if he'll reconsider, they've gotten this far, they can work through it. 

Sid doesn’t do any of that though.

He stays on the kitchen floor and lets the silence swallow him whole.

 

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://tchallacap.tumblr.com)


End file.
